I don’t want to change...

 

(With P.K.Biswal, Under Secretary, Finance and John Evans, Project Director, Crown Agents, UK . The DFID, UK had appointed Crown Agents, a consultancy firm to study and suggest for implementation of VAT in Odisha )

Most of the senior officers felt uncomfortable to accept the idea of VAT, but they, being in government job, could do anything, and were helpless. Some officers who had retired from Odisha Finance Service opposed, and wrote articles in newspapers. The newspapers loved to publish anything anti-establishment, the people loved to read anti-establishment stories. The dealers also did not want VAT.

The officers had served their entire service career in sales tax system, were well versed in the pros and cons, nuances of sales tax law; they were afraid of the change. The VAT along with reforms in the administrative structure would also strip them off the power over the dealers, and impede vested interests.

One day Mohan Kumar was discussing with B.B.Das. He said, “There are some who are writing against VAT, spreading misinformation and creating adverse opinion among the public. Those who are writing have not understood VAT and its implication. It will create difficulty for us to implement. Can’t any of us write about VAT to counter their misinformation?”

B.B.Das said, “Tell Sahadev, he can.”

Commissioner called me and explained the situation and told me to write on VAT. I started writing in the newspapers on VAT and tax administration. All the distinguished newspapers in Odisha published my articles. My consistent writing in newspapers made me familiar with the general readers, academics, business people and other stakeholders.

But the newspapers’ publishing my articles and my familiarity or popularity with the public was not to the liking of many colleagues and senior officers of the department. They expressed their displeasure in different ways and deeds. One day, a senior additional commissioner alleged before the commissioner, “Sir, Sahadev is a junior officer. How is he writing in newspapers? Being a government servant, he cannot write; it is against the conduct rules.”

He did not know G.Mohan Kumar had told me to write. Commissioner said, “I have told him to write, to neutralize the canards spread by some people. Let him do, it’s a good thing he does.”

Commissioner’s reply discomfited the additional commissioner. He said, “Sir, does he show you what he writes before he sends to the newspapers?”

Commissioner said, “Not necessary, he is free to write what he likes. I know he won’t write anything against.”

Commissioner called me after he left his chamber, for the daily afternoon session of checking VAT draft. B.B.Das and additional commissioner (Revenue) were present. Commissioner said, “You go on writing, don’t fear. I am with you.”

This additional commissioner wrote an article on VAT and got it published in ‘Sambad’. He had also made literal translation of English words, like the one the assistant commissioner, Bhubaneswar range did of G.C.Pati’s essay and it was not comprehensible. Soumya Ranjan Patnaik, editor, ‘Sambad’ telephoned me and asked the meaning of certain words used in the article. I explained the connotations and purposes of those words. He laughed at such uses. I said, “Sir, you have published it in your newspaper!”  He said, “You don’t understand, we have also a sales tax registration. We purchase newsprint and other taxable goods. Why should we displease a senior officer? If displeased, he may make a case against us, and we will be running to the courts. Better to publish his article and please him. Do the readers read all the news and articles published daily?”

After this one, ‘Sambad’ did not publish any of additional commissioner’s articles.

I continued my writing, especially when someone wrote against VAT I countered him and published it in the newspaper he had published his. I was trying to write in simple and lucid language so that a common man, the newspaper reader understood. My articles got attention of different organisations, trade and industry bodies, and tax bar associations, colleges and universities. I got invitations from them to be guest or speaker in seminars they organised on VAT and tax system. 

                     (In a seminar, organised by Institute of Company Secretaries, Bhubaneswar)

One day I was sitting in my office room. The secretary of an NGO met me and said, “We are organizing a seminar on VAT. Trilochan Kanungo is the chief guest. He told us to invite you to be a speaker. The other speaker is Nageswar Patnaik of Economics Times.”

A few days back, Sambad had published an article of Trilochan Kanungo on VAT. In the article he argued VAT would be against the interest of Odisha, the state would incur loss and the poor people would suffer. I response to that article I wrote one which Sambad published on January 6, 2005. (Odisha Assembly had passed Odisha VAT Act in December,2004, VAT was scheduled to be introduced in April,2005) On the article, the editor ‘Sambad’ commented in bold letters, “Recently, the veteran politician and economic expert, Trilochan Kanungo, in this column, raises some doubts on implementation of VAT in Odisha. He is of the view, VAT will not favour a poor state like Odisha. The writer of this feature has argued in favour, this may be taken as a reply to Kanungo’s doubts and apprehensions.”

                                       (The article was published in Sambad on 06.01. 2005)

I attended the seminar. After that, Trilochan Kanungo, when he passed by our office would drop in, meet me for a chitchat. One day he said, “You have reproached me in your article.”

I never did. I had great respect for him as an honest politician and an intellectual. His accusation surprised me. In my article I had also not mentioned his name. The editor took his name in his comment. But he did not relish the quote from “The Alchemist” of Paulo Coelho; I had given to begin the feature. The quote was: I don’t want to change, because I don’t know how to deal with change. I am used to the way I am.

I told I did not quote Celho with a view to hurting him. I began the feature with the quote to make the article attractive. It would get the attention of the readers. He understood.

I realised my writings, without my intention, were, sometimes, aggressive, but people liked it that way. Many readers and stakeholders had told me.

*****

 

My First Article on Tax and Tax administration

 

(Head office, circa 2000. I was officer in charge of VAT Cell and in addition, in charge of Manual Officer)

G.C.Pati was a dynamic commissioner. The state Chief Ministers, in a conference in November, 1999, convened by Union Finance Minister, Jaswant Sinha, took the decision to replace sales tax with VAT. The government of India constituted Empowered Committee of State Finance Ministers (EC) in July, 2000, to coordinate among the states, and design VAT structure, in consultation with the states, for smooth transition from sales tax to VAT. The EC met almost every month. Mr Pati attended the meetings with the state finance minister. He commanded respect at the national level among the commissioners of other states for his enthusiasm for reforms and innovative ideas in tax administration. He had written an essay on VAT and the consequent tax administration under the title, ‘Towards Tax Administration’ and distributed it among the officers. The essay was of eleven pages.

The assistant commissioner of Bhubaneswar range, got the essay translated into Odia and published it in ‘Sambad’ and ‘Samay’. The Additional CTO, who translated the essay, was a columnist; he wrote features in Odia newspapers and had good command over language. But he, then, did not understand VAT. He made literal translation of the essay into Odia. That  was incomprehensible for the common man. There were certain words used in VAT or taxation for which Odia vocabulary did not have the corresponding words. He wrote whatever came to his mind, just to please the assistant commissioner, his boss who was pestering him to finish  soon .

I took a copy of ‘Sambad’ to the commissioner in the morning. He had already seen it. He said, “The translation is a bit difficult, I don’t understand. Can’t it be published in any English newspaper?”

I said, “Yes, it can; but not this long, maximum within one thousand or eleven hundred words. It means three or three and half pages.”

He said, “Make it precise, if you can.”

I did and showed him; he approved.

I gave the article to Pradeep Biswal. Then he was C.T.O, Cuttack I West Circle. He gave it to Srimay Kar, the resident editor, Indian Express. Indian Express published it in its national page.

After a few days, Commissioner called me just after he reached the office and said, “Karnatak commissioner had telephoned me. He appreciated the article on VAT, published today in Indian Express.”

I was not subscribing Indian Express, I had not seen it. I had been to Bangalore on VAT training in December, 2000 and met the Karnatak commissioner. He was in full praise of G.C.Pati. The article was well appreciated.

Pati said, “Can’t you translate it into Odia?”

I said, “I shall try.”

It was difficult to find exact Odia equivalent for English words to express, in such kind of technical subject. I had coined certain words in Odia, for example, VAT or Value Added Tax. In consultation with Saroj Ranjan Mohanty, editor, ‘Jhankar’ I decided mulyajuktakara for VAT. Later, government adopted it for official use. I did not, in certain cases, make one word. Rather than finding one word, I explained, e.g. cascading in Odia as increase of prices of commodity on account of tax on tax, input tax credit as credit of tax paid on purchase, etc. I took two or three days to translate. In some places, I put the English words in brackets so as to make it intelligible.

         (My first article on taxation, published by my name, in Prajatantra, 24 October, 2001)

(Since then, I have been writing in Odia and have published more than two hundred articles on taxation and economy. I have developed Odia language to express these technical matters and no longer have I to give English words in brackets to make those intelligible to the common readers)

But government transferred G.C.Pati on the day I finished.

We heard there was some misunderstanding between the finance minister and commissioner over the annual officers' transfer order. G.C.Pati did not like to continue. He met the chief secretary and requested for his transfer. I met him in the morning and showed him the Odia article. He was waiting for the new incumbent to hand over charges. He glanced at the article and said, “You publish it by your name.”

I said, “Sir, this is yours, I have just translated.”

He said, “Okay, no problem, you publish it by your name.”

‘Prajatantra’ published the article by my name and that was the first article published by my name on tax and tax administration.

***

 

Cuttack

 

(Receiving Citizen's Award, Cuttack from Chief Minister, Odisha in 2011) 

Cuttack nagara, dhabal tagar. I had read it when I learnt alphabets from Barnabodha of Madhusudan Rao. This was the prescribed book for children to learn alphabets. The name of the city, Cuttack was ingrained in mind from the very childhood. Later, when government celebrated one thousand years of the city in 1988-89, coined the slogan, Cuttack nagar, barasa hazaar, (Cuttack, a city of thousand years). Besides my village and village of my maternal uncle, the only place I did know or hear was Cuttack till I went to school. In my childhood, Cuttack to me was a city like London or Paris.

I was born in a remote village. Flood visited almost every year and marooned our village for more than a fortnight. The flood water cut off our village from outside world. For any urgency, the means of communication was rowboats. Some people of the village, relatively well off, had boats which came into use during flood. Some people made rafts stitching banana logs with thin bamboo sticks. They used the rafts to go to the mango grove or to a banyan tree to relieve in the morning on a branch of the tree. When I was in the college or university I have to traverse a distance of five kilometres in waist or in some places, chest deep flood water to Koudikol Chhak to go to the collage. From Koudikol, on the Daitary-Paradeep Express Highway, I climbed to the body of a truck that carried iron ore from Daitary to Paradeep port, and reached Chandikhol. From Chandikhol I got the bus to wherever I had to go. No bus or any other transport vehicle plied in those days in the Express Highway.

The school where I studied and passed Matriculation was on bank of the river, Kelua, a branch of the river Brahmani. There was an embankment in front of the school; hence the school was in between the river and the embankment. When the river overflowed, water entered into the school campus and flooded the rooms. The school remained closed till the flood water receded. I was studying science in my intermediate classes and I needed the board certificate to fill up forms for final exam. It was rainy season. I had to swim seven or eight metres from the embankment to reach the school and get my board certificate. Holding the certificate high in one hand I swam back to the embankment.

 Cuttack, the city of my dreams is only fifty kilometres from my village, but the city seemed to me distant and unreachable.

Cuttack was the city of politics, learning, history, culture and literature. It was the centre of freedom struggle. Guru Nanak, Sri Chaitanya, had visited the city, many writers, educationists; social reformers had their residences, so also many kings and emperors had once ruled from here. It was the old capital of the state. The premier institute Ravenshaw College is in Cuttack. The obituary of any great person published in newspapers mentions he was once a student of Ravenshaw. I did not get an opportunity to study in Ravenshaw. After matriculation I applied for Ravenshaw, BJB and Bhadrak College. Intimation for admission I first received from Bhadrak and took admission there. Later, I got the intimation for Ravenshaw, but then, I did not like to take transfer certificate from Bhadrak. On different occasions I came to Cuttack, stayed with friends in Ravenshaw College hostels, but for two three days. I had never resided in the city for a long time.

                                        (On the bank of the river, Mahanadi in a quiet afternoon)

On transfer, I had to join Cuttack office. It was already dawn when Rourkela bus reached Cuttack, but the lazy city was still asleep. The shops and market had not opened. I got a rickshaw and came by Dolamundai, Bajrakabati, Ranihat. In some places, cows and bulls slept on the road. A thrill passed through me when I passed college square. When I was a student, I bought books and magazines from college square, and stayed with my friends Biraja and Sitanath in their hostel. We came to college square and used to chitchat over cups of tea and smoking cheap cigarettes.

I stayed in Bombey hotel.

*****

I studied up to class five in the village school, and then, went to study in the school of my maternal uncle’s village from class six. I stayed four years with my uncle and remaining two years in the school. In college and university I was staying in hostels. I enjoyed freedom, more than other students, my friends; me having relatively less parental or guardian’s control over me. I used to wander; chitchatting, sitting in a khatti and discussing whatever come up for discussion over cups of tea and cigarettes. This had been a habit with me since my school/college days. Wherever I was, I got my friends and a khatti.

Soon after I joined, I got a khatti in Cuttack. In the morning I went to a tea stall. Saroj Ranjan Mohanty and Prafulla Mohanty joined there. Soroj Mohanty was a reputed poet and editor of the prestigious literary magazine, Jhankar. Prafulla Mohanty worked in the secretariat. He was an actor, a theatre person as well as an AIR artiste. The writers or poets who came to meet Saroj Mohanty, first they looked for him in the Khatti. Prof. Deepti Ranjan Patnaik, a writer, was then in Ravenshaw College, Debabrat Madanray, a writer, was editor, Nabalipi, a literary magazine, both sometimes dropped in, so also other men of art and literature. There was no fixed subject; discussion went on literature, politics, art and culture, whatever cropped up. Some local people also joined. The Khatti continued for a longer time on Sundays or other holidays.

(Khatti; Saroj Mohanty reading the morning newspaper, me sitting next to him in the above photo, Prafulla Mohanty, standing and reading the Paper in the photograph below)

I always tried not to bring office to home; office work in office and when I was home reading or writing or in the Khatti, I tried not to think about office. I lived in two worlds. Office often irritated, tired me; the foul mood, sometimes, was with me even after I reached home. The khatti or a book drove out those fetid thoughts. Discontent in me often vented out in my writings.

When I was in Rourkela I wrote two stories, Eka Eka (All Alone) and Kaunria Kathi (Fibre-less Stem of Jute Plant), published in Katha. Manas was the protagonist in both the stories. The readers appreciated. I continued to write based on certain events I experienced; idiosyncrasies of some officers and colleagues also inspired me, and I told all those stories through Manas. Then, there were no cell phones, SMS or WhatsApp or Facebook; readers used to write letters. Readers often wrote me to let them know the next magazine which would publish Manas’s next story, so that they would buy the magazine. Besides common readers, I received letters from the employees of commercial tax organisation or persons associated with the organisation.

Some senior officers and colleagues did not appreciate the stories. Two/three officers who had interest in literature (they were also published writers) told me it was enough, stop writing on the department. I stopped, but not for their pressure; I did not want to be a typecast. Cuttack Students’ Store, Cuttack published a collection of selected fifteen of those stories under the title Nija Batare Nije (All in Their Own Ways).

( Nija Batare Nije (All in Their Own Ways), Cuttack Students' Store, 2002)

At this time, ‘Nabalipi’ had published my story Charibandhu (Four Friends); the story was based on characters of the Khatti. Debabrat Madanray liked the story and later, inspired by Four Friends, he wrote a story; of course, from his experience and one of the characters of his story was Sahadev.

*****

 

The Check gate

 

(A group photo taken after the farewell feast. I am sitting at three from left, the CTO, J.K.R.Das is sitting to my right .)

I joined as Additional CTO in Mukundaprasad check gate after I completed my training in Madhusadan Institute of Academy and Finance (MIAF), and reported to D.P.Rath, CTO, Jatni Circle.

D.P.Rath was a nice person, a talkative man. A pleasant personality, gentle and amiable, one would start liking him after a five minutes’ talk. His family was at Cuttack, he was staying in Jatni. He went to Cuttack every Saturday and returned on Monday. To get the bus, he came to our check gate by jeep, caught the bus there, and on Monday he returned from Cuttack and got off there. The jeep would be waiting for him to take him to Jatni. He discussed with me on any subject that came to his mind while waiting for the bus in our check gate office. Sometimes, especially on Monday before leaving for Jatni office, he would take tea. One day he told me, “You should quit this job.”

In fact, I was least interested in this kind of job. But I had then hard circumstances for some personal and family reasons. I could not do what I wanted. I had to take up this job, enter into government service. I replied, “Sir, you know about acute unemployment problem. I am married with a daughter. What shall I do if I quit this job? Not possible under the circumstances.”

D.P.Rath said, “I have done my M.A. in Allahabad University. When I was doing my post graduation, the banks were nationalized. I had written an article on bank nationalization. I cannot believe now when I read the article that I had once written it. The moment you join this service, process of your undoing begins. After twenty years in this job, you will find, you have forgotten everything; the language now you speak, the words you use, your past... except three or four words like ‘clandestine business’, ‘fraudulent dealers’ , ‘however’, etc.”

During my school or college days, like many students, I had also a streak of ideology. For some years I was also a member of a leftist student organisation. But I was disillusioned with the members and their activities.  I left the party. My circumstances compelled me to earn to live with a fair degree of dignity and the only means I had, or I believed I had, was to go for a job. I did not have courage or means to do anything other for a living. The government job was a secure job. I thought I would in the service and also write features or essays in newspapers and magazines on current affairs. But conduct rules of a government servant did not allow pursuing what I desired. In the MIAF where I was a trainee, I asked B.B.Das. “Being in the job, can I write in newspapers and magazines?”

B.B.Das was an honest and knowledgeable officer. He was teaching us Central Sales Tax and Service Code.

“No, you cannot write, you cannot be critical of government policy being a government servant.” He said.

Soon the job disenchanted me. For the M.Phil I did my dissertation on Indo-US relation. I had studied Marx, Hegel, Ranke or E.H.Carr, used to discuss with my professors and friends communalism, then in early 1980s, communal riots frequently occurred; had read seminar papers (it was part of M. Phil syllabus) on national and international issues. But here, I had to face drunken truck drivers, tax offenders, and delinquent staff, obsessed with mundane and worldly wise matters. I could not reconcile.

( A group photo of officers and staff of Mukundaprasad and By-pass check gates after a farewell feast of an inspector who retired. I am sitting at second from right.)

The job soon frustrated me, I felt restless. One day I was alone in my room, my wife and daughter had been to village. I could not sleep. The days of the Kurukshetra University flashed in my mind. I remembered the library, the rose garden, discussion with my friends in the coffee house, books and different isms we deliberated, national and international affairs we argued and debated. I compared those with the present. The present stirred and provoked me. I wrote a story and it was dawn when I finished. The story calmed me. I sent it to Katha magazine soon after I reached the office.

Next month I went to the magazine stall, and learnt Katha had stopped its publication from that month. I did not have the copy of the story.

                                                        ***          

I was transferred from Mukundaprasad to Patnagarh treasury and from Patnagarh to Satyabadi. One day I was sitting in my office, the postman came and told you had a money order (MO). Katha had sent the MO of Rs. 50, and on message portion of the MO form, the editor had written, “Please accept the remuneration for your story published in Katha in its July issue.”

It was in last week of August. In the mean time, Katha had started republishing and the editor had published my story pending with them. They had sent the complimentary copy of the magazine and the MO to Mukundaprasad check gate, as the address of Mukundaprasad was given with the submission of the story. The officer in charge of Mukundaprasad had redirected the MO to Satyabadi, but had kept the magazine, which was sent by ordinary post. With Rs.50 in hand I went straight to Bhubaneswar from the office. The July issue of Katha was available. I purchased both the July and August issues.

The story was published under the title ‘Yatri’ (Traveller). Most of the letters on the stories of July published in month of August had praise for my story. Later, I happened to meet one officer working in Mukundaprasad in OFSA meeting held in Bhubaneswar. He inquired whether or not I had received the MO he had redirected, and said, “We have received many post cards, views on the story from different places; we did not redirect those as I considered those not important.” I could not explain him importantance of those letters to a writer! Still I was grateful to him for redirecting the MO; otherwise, I would be aware of the story’s publication in Katha.

        (First paragraph and the layout of the story published in facenfacts.com)

Later, I changed the caption of the story to ‘jeebaloka’ (the man not to stay back), which is in my book, Chakrabyuha. It was a favourite story of many. Gourhari Das has selected this story for the anthology of love stories in Odia, ‘Prema’ (Love). facenfacts.com; a web magazine has published the English translation of this story under the caption, Kuruskhetra: A Love Story.

 

 

Last Day in Satyabadi

 

(In the office)

I wanted a transfer from Satyabadi (or Sakhigopal); I was there for more than four years, but it pained me when I left the place.

I had rented a house on the road side, around hundred metres from the temple. Satyabadi did not have piped water supply; we drew water from a well for use, to bathe or cook and drink.  The water did not suit us; it got contaminated in the rainy season. We had bouts of diarrhoea, fever, dysentery. Once, my wife, son and daughter all had typhoid at the same time. It was a horrible time.

Satyabadi was rather a village with some government offices like police station, Block or a dispensary. Satyabadi is important for the Sakhigopinath temple, and for its history; Utkalmani Gopabndhu had set up an ideal school, later called, Bana Bidyalaya (Forest School) and started the newspaper Samaj from here. There were a few shops, but people depended on Bhubaneswar for shopping. The officers posted in Satyabadi either commuted daily from Bhubaneswar or from Puri. 

During my stint in Satyabadi treasury I had befriended many, mostly the pensioners, those above 58 (the retirement age at that time was 58). I used to joke, to be my friend one should have qualifying age of 58. Many pensioners often came to me just for chatting and I enjoyed listening to their experiences, stories about their childhood or service life. Whenever there was a marriage or sacred thread ceremony (the dominant caste in Satyabadi region is Brahmin, they celebrate sacred thread ceremony of their sons) I got special invitation and I attended. Satyabadi, being a small town or a big village, with few offices, the treasury officer was a VIP. I attended sometimes as chief guest in the annual or sports functions of schools or clubs.

            (Family picnic with friends in Nandankanan; standing Bijay, Natabar, Me and Somesh)

The treasury did not have much work; it had only twelve drawing officers, those who drew salary or other claims from the treasury, and nearly three hundred pensioners. After first week, I had on an average fifteen minutes’ work a day. The place, in fact, did not justify a treasury. Puri had the district treasury and Pipli had one treasury also; both the places are twenty kilometres from each side of Satyabadi.

At the time of setting up the treasury, the government made a principle a place having a tehsil office would have a treasury. Satyabadi did not have a tehsil. But then, Gangadhar Mohapatra was the Minister, Finance and Madhusudan Misra (popularly known as Madhu Misra in the region) was the Director, Treasuries; and both belonged to Satyabadi. They took an exception and set up the treasury at Satyabdi on the ground of historical importance of the place. Madhu Misra sometimes came to sell their coconuts to the RMC (Regional Market Committee) and dropped in the treasury for chitchatting over a cup of tea. He told me the behind story of the treasury.

I had enough time for reading and writing. I would start a novel of two hundred to two hundred fifty pages in the morning and finish by the time I went to sleep. The stories compiled in my first two books I had written during my stay in Satyabadi.

And then my transfer order came.

My wife desired to have a darshan of Lord Jagannath before we left Satyabadi. I also wanted to have a curtsey call to the district treasury officer. After darshan of the Lord, I went to the district treasury office. I chanced upon L.N.Misra, the sub collector in the treasury office. L.N.Misra belonged to a village near Satyabadi; he was daily commuting to Puri. He said me, “You are here! The pensioners are organizing a farewell feast for you in Satyabadi.”

I said, “I shall reach in time, they are organizing lunch.”

L.N.Misra said, “In the morning I saw my father was plucking flowers. I asked, what will you with so many flowers?  He replied the treasury officer is leaving us today on transfer. I shall string a garland for him.”

His father was taking pension from our treasury.

The pensioners were unhappy with my transfer. Some of them told me they would approach the MLA and demand for cancellation of my transfer. I dissuaded them. I told I had already completed four years. How long should I stay in one place? I wanted the transfer. They desisted from meeting the MLA.

They had arranged mahaprasad of Lord Jagannath for the lunch. We had a group photograph, on their insistence I put on the garland round my neck in the photograph. They had also invited a few reporters. After we had the lunch I took leave of them.

(The photograph with a few pensioners and staff of the treasury. Srichandan Misra who took over charge from me sitting at my left. I am sitting in the middle.)

A few newspapers had published the news of my transfer under the caption; “Transfer of Satyabadi Treasury Officer.” There was some praise for me in the news. After I joined intelligence wing, one/two officers said, “We had curiosity to see you, that treasury officer, whose transfer becomes news in the newspapers.”

***

 

A Few Scenes and Some Characters

 

(A Few Scenes and Some Characters)

My professor in Kurukshetra University where I was doing M. Phil. in 1983-04, one day asked me, “Why don’t you go for writing?”

He was Prof. V.N. Dutta. Penguin Random House has recently published his book Jallianwala Bagh (with his interview and an introduction by Nonica Dutta). The book is in the best selling list in the category of non-fiction.

I replied, “Sir, I don’t have command over language.”

Prof. Dutta suggested writing in English in the journals and newspapers. He said, “That’s a bogus idea. You need three things to write. First, you see if you have something to say and second, you have clarity and conviction of what you want to say. Third, you need courage. Language will automatically come, language is never a barrier.”

I feel I have something to say. (I cannot claim I have courage.) I have been writing stories and novels. (Courage deficit and conduct rules for a government servant prevent me from writing all that I want to.) Readers have appreciated and have inspired me to continue. I have published so far thirteen story collections, seven novels in Odia, and one novel in English. Besides, I write features for newspapers, both in Odia and English.

Citra O Charitra is my thirteenth story collection.

In my childhood, there was a wise old man in our village. We called him Manthan Budha. He told stories from Ramayan, Mahabharat and other ancient literature. People, particularly the women and children loved him. Manthan Budha told the stories as if he were present on the scene and witnessed the events. One day he was telling a story from Kalidas’s.

The king was painting the image of his most beautiful queen on the canvas with all his love and care. Kalidas reached. The king asked him, “How does it look?’

Kalidas nodded his head in disapproval. The king understood, and being upset, threw in disgust the brush he was holding. A drop of paint fell on the thigh of the queen’s image. Kalidas remarked, “Now it’s okay, beautiful!”

The King, surprised, demanded, “How was it not good a moment before, and now it’s beautiful?”

Kalidas replied, “The queen has a mole on her thigh, you had not painted the mole, so the painting was incomplete. When you threw away the brush in disgust, a drop of paint fell on her thigh and made a mole. It’s now complete and it's really beautiful.”

The king suspected Kalidas. How it was possible Kalidas knew the mole on the thigh which the queen was supposed to cover with her dress in public? He ordered his soldiers to take Kalidas to the deep jungle and kill him.

The soldiers took Kalidas to deep woods. But they had respect for the great poet. They let him free, killed a bird and produced the blood before the king as evidence of Kalidas’s assassination.

Once, after a few days, Kalidas had gone to a courtesan at night. The same courtesan was also king’s favorite. The king went to her when Kalidas was there and knocked at the door. Kalidas, finding no route of escape, hid below the cot and waited. The king recited a Sanskrit sloka for the courtesan, but it had a mistake.

Kalidas heard the sloka and immediately corrected. The king knew it could be only Kalidas.

I asked Manthan Budha, “Kalidas knew if he was found, the King would punish him with death. Why did he take the risk?”

Manthan Budha smiled and said, “The King did not kill him. He realized his folly and the next day he called Kalidas to his darbar and reinstated him to his previous position.”

And Manthan Budha added, “Kalidas cannot keep anything inside his chest; he has to speak out, otherwise his heart will burst.”

I have been writing for more than thirty-thirty five years. If I feel something I have to speak out or write, I feel restless and sometimes fall sick, until I vent the inside out in my writings. I am conscious of conduct rules of a government servant and I try to be within official limit, but the pen, perhaps, sometimes transgresses. Those are often not palatable to my friends and colleagues of the organisation I work for. But I am helpless.

I happened to meet one of my former commissioners in the month I was to retire from government service. He asked, “What will you do after your retirement?”

I said, “I shall read and write.”

He said, “Do you know your friends and colleagues in the department  do not like you for your writings?”

I said, “They don’t like me when I am in service, working with them for more than thirty years. What difference it will make to me if they don’t like me after my retirement?”

I have not stopped writing. Citra O Charitra, a collection of eighteen stories is my first book published after my retirement in 2020. Publisher: Cuttack Students’ Store, Balu Bazaar, Cuttack

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Kanhu and Other Stories

 

Tsundoku is a Japanese term, it means, acquiring books, but letting them pile up without reading, or books ready for reading when they are on your bookshelf. I am one, I have greed for books. If I am travelling and have to wait for the flight or train, I love to spend the time in the book stall of the airport or railway station. At a time I order/purchase three or four books, I may have read two; I shall order another three, if I happen to read good reviews in the Sunday newspapers or magazines or if a friend recommends certain books that he has read or is reading. The two books of the four I have purchased earlier remain unread. In the process unread books get piling up. Later, looking at the shelf, when I come across an unread book, I pick up to read. 

I had purchased Kanhu and Other Stories, an anthology of ten Odia short stories translated into English by Saroj Misra in 2015, but had not read. Recently I caught sight of the book in my shelf and read those interesting stories.

The first story of the collection is Gourahari Das’s Kanhu’s Home; the main character of the story gives the title of the book. Kanhu is a poor village boy; his drunkard father has abandoned his mother for another woman. Kanhu comes to Bhubaneswar; Mr Patnaik employs him to supervise construction of his house and cajoles him to believe the house will be his. Poor and simple minded Kanhu believes, supervises sincerely the construction and dreams of staying with his mother in one of the rooms.  The construction is completed; he has gone to his village to bring his mother. Shock and disillusionment grip him when he returns and the security person of the house prevents him from entering the house he has believes his own.

                                                                          (Gourhari Das)

Sudarshan has an iron chest; no one except him knows what is in it. He never parts the key with anyone, not even his wife. He is above ninety. His sons, daughters in law and grand children believe he must have kept in the chest gold, jewellery or some valuable things. He dies. The chest is opened and it is found, the chest has land documents, a few silver coins and a box of letters written in Bengli. The old man reads and writes Bengli. The only other person in the family who reads Bengli is the eldest daughter in law, but she also keeps the contents of the letters secret and the mystery remains (Mystery of the Closed Iron Chest, Sahadev Sahoo)

                                                       (Sahadev Sahoo)

An old woman and his wife have to live separately. His two sons and daughters in law are good, they love their parents, want to look after them in their old age, but, being low paid employees and having rented small houses and, staying in two different places, they cannot afford to keep both the parents in one house of any of them. During the time of chariot festival (Rath Yatra), both his sons and their parents have come to Puri to have a darshan of the Lord on the chariot. The old man meets his wife after five years. Lord Jagannath not only meets his devotees, but He also enables the estranged old couple meet each other. (The Last Opportunity, Bipin Bihari Misra)

Paresh Kumar Patnaik’s story Inauguration of Electric Crematorium is a political satire. The minister is to inaugurate an electric crematorium and a corpse is required. The organizers have arranged a dead body with much difficulty, but he has a strange disease. If truth is told he feels pain, if lie is told he feels fine. Excessive truth has killed him. The minister reads the speech prepared by his speech writer and the speech contains, as usual, lies. The dead man starts shaking his body. Immediately, on advice by the speech writer, the minister switches over to telling truth. The man is dead again. The doctor laments, the man could have been cured back to life and been alive.

                                                                      (Paresh Kumar Patnaik)

The story of Ramachandra Behera, ‘The Wound’, is about a rustic poor and simple man who with his wife takes care of orphans, not known to outside world. The TV persons of a channel discover and telecast the good work done by the poor people. That changes their idyllic life, damages their peace of mind. The wound caused is difficult to heal. Saroj Misra’s story, Mission Heart tells about a wife who employs a young man to wean away her husband from his lover to save her own marriage, but she falls in love with the young man and is pregnant by him. In Bibhuti Patnaik’s story Gagan Majhi and his Kin, Janhavi goads her police officer husband to evict the road blockade to ease supply of raw material to the company’s steel plant, so that the company would not close down and her brother could save his company job. Her police officer husband succeeded in evicting, but a few tribal people lost their lives in firing. Janhavi gets nightmares of Gagan Majhi’s men strangulating her. Travel and Shoes by Sripasad Mohanty is a funny story on daily commuters from home to office covering more than a hundred kilometres a day by train. One daily commuter steals the shoes of a co-passenger and sells him back his shoes.

Besides, the book contains stories of Shyama Prasad Chaudhury (Drowning) and Barendra Krushna Dhal (Goalkeeper). In Drowning, Nandita’s husband is captivated by the beauty of Ipsita and on return from tour, he tells his wife he has saved Ramesh, his assistant from drowning, though he actually believes he has saved Ipsita. Next day there is news, Ramesh is drowned and dead. In Goalkeeper, PK, a great football fan has bribed Janmejoy, the ace goalkeeper of the opposite team to skip the game or play badly so that his team would win. Janmejoy refuses to be bought up; despite he, being a poor clerk and his dire necessity, he returns the money.

The ten stories of the book reflect Odia culture and tradition, the life of its people. The selected stories are readable; a must read for everyone. The book, published by Leadstart publishing under Platinum India Classic is available on Amazon and other e-commerce platforms.

*****